


Just some kind of dream

by WintersGreen



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintersGreen/pseuds/WintersGreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the big uproar Jim's world starts to crumble. He can't get Bruce Wayne out of his mind, not even out of his dreams.</p><p>And while his marriage seems to fail he may get an other shot at something he would never have believed to want this desperately just months ago- Bruce Wayne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just some kind of bad dream

This Story takes place in the Nolanverse, a few years after the explosion that killed Bruce.  
It's not an complete AU, but some things are different. For example are the Gordon's still married and the future takes a twist that may not have been in Nolan's mind, at all ;)

I hope you have a nice day and enjoy!

 

The first time Jim Gordon cries out the name of the other man in their bed Barbara pretends not to notice.  
It's in the middle of the night, she was sound asleep just seconds ago, lying still, not even breathing properly out of shock. Next to her, her husband is breathing all the faster, eyes wide open and sweat pooling above his brows. His heart races in his chest loud enough to rule out all the other noises of the night. 

Barbara hears him muttering, but the words are to heavy with sleep, fear and something she can't put a finger on. After one or two seconds his breath evens out and he slips back into whatever dream he was woken out off.  
She hasn't got the same luck. Her thoughts are racing each other. Every cell of her being is super aware of their surroundings, the warm sheet that cover her form, the light chill of winter that managed to creep in since they have the heating in their room turned off for the night. 

'Its just an other nightmare', she soothes herself 'he works too hard, again. You should cook some nice dinner, force him to go home from the office before nightfall. All those horrible things must darken his dreams.'

A hopefull but tentative smile on her lips she turns around, drapes an arm over the man she still- miraculously- loves. Her head rests on his shoulder and just then she recognizes how silly she is. Suddenly sleep comes easy again. She won't wake up till the next morning.

 

Said morning p- it soon turns out- is like a punch in the face. She doesn't even have to open the paper to be greeted with Bruce Wayne's stupid thousand watt smile. His handsome features are plasters on the front page, the headlines announce the upcoming five year anniversary of his death during the Big uproar of the mobs.  
The coffee on her tongue tastes bitter and she puts her freshly poured cup away. At first she shakes her head over her own foolish behavior. It's maybe not a conscience that Jim dreams about the man who's death he had witnessed all this years ago. But it also made it more easy to explain. 

She has just reached the part of the article where the reporter writes about the Wayne foundation that was founded with all of Bruce's' personal money and how it had helped to make Gotham a better, a safer place when her husband came down the stairs. 

His eyes scanned the kitchen, wandered from the still steaming coffee to his wife to the paper she was holding. The smile slips of his face like molten butter. The expression that now settled on his face was only describable as pained, which startled Barbara more than a little.

"Darling, are you okay?", she asked tentatively. Jim's head snapped up a little, as if completely ripped out of his own thoughts. It did not help to ease the un-good feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

"Yes, of course. Just still asleep." He smiled and made himself breakfast, carefully avoiding glancing at the paper again.  
For Barbara it felt like something significant was slowly slipping in motion- and she had the sickening conviction that she would not like this future events.

 

***********

The second time it happens is just three days later. And this time it is more than just a single cry that disturbed her sleep.  
Jim is trashing in his sheets, fist clenched tightly together, the nails digging in his palms. But even the pain is not enough to fully wake him.

And he his muttering on and on, something that Barbara starts to make out as the desperate mantra of 'don't go, please don't go'.  
When she is about to touch him, he shakes his head, eyelids pressed shut against the moisture that is about to leak from them. "But we need you", Jim chokes out.

With a huge lump in her throat Barbara decides she has had enough and shakes him firmly.  
Eyes fly open and his back heaves of the mattress, putting him into a sitting position.

"Gods, Jim! You scared me to death!", she pants.

Gordon lifts his head, looks around the room slowly, as if he had to take in his surroundings, then settle on her. His glance seems a little off, like it's not her he had expected to see. 

"I am sorry, Barbara, just an other nightmare", he tries to reassure her. But she is not having any of it.

"No, Jim, it's not."

He is silent for a moment before speaking carefully.  
"I don't think I get what you want to say", he confesses. 

"I don't want to say anything beside that you are having more than a common unpleasant dream, Jim. Nothing more." Because what more can there be? It's natural for Jim to have lingering memories of the uproar, and it's also easy to understand how the anniversary of those events can trigger them. What she is incapable of understanding, is Bruce Wayne's role in this.

 

*******

Jim Gordon would lie under oath without blinking to say he was putting down flowers to the memorial to remember and honor all the victims of the raid. The truth is, he only put the half on them on the feet of the memorial. The other half he carries trough the silent rows of tombstones, from the new, shiny ones to the old and pompous ones at the back end of the grave yard. He wanders back to his car, drives out of the city and does not stop until he reaches the outskirts of what property belongs to the Wayne mansion. 

Carefully he made his way over to the private little graveyard that holds the family. The whole family, now.  
Bruce gravestone is out of polished black marble. And how that fits. Black marble for the city's black knight. For the man who lived willingly in the deepest shadows just like he did in the brightest light.  
Not knowing what to do or say Jim simply puts the flowers down. He had no idea what kind of flowers the Wayne would have preferred so he brought a simple one made of white Lillie's. Not as cliche as roses and suiting at this. To him they had always had some kind of artificial beauty Just like Bruce polished playboy persona, and mysterious like the role he slipped into when night fell.

"I am a fool. Standing here in the cold like I am waiting for some kind of miracle. I was a fool to not recognize you until it was too late, too. To think knowing would do us harm." He took a deep breath and massaged his stressed temples. 

"I should have gotten you out of my system about now, don't you think? I know I should, but I can't. I can't stop to think there is something I am still missing." And now he was talking to a stone. To a memory. If he allowed himself to go down this road any longer he would go insane more quickly than he could say Arkham. 

Shaking his head he buried his fists in his coat pockets and waited until he finally could tear his eyes away and march back to his car.

What he couldn't know was how a pair of old eyes had rested on him the entire time.

 

*********

 

The third time he moaned Bruce Wayne's name while in the process of waking up- nearly a week after the second time- is when Barbara grabs her sheets and pillows and moves to the guest room.

She comes back two night after and leaves again when Jim wakes her up, again. 

It is a terrible situation, for both of them. Sadly Jim doesn't have the slightest clue what to say, how to explain himself to his wife when he can almost feel the cool kefler of Batman's mask under his fingers, the look in dream-Bruce' eyes when he lifted it imprinted on his retina for what begins to feel like forever. 

 

*******

It takes two weeks and more than just two dreamless nights in a row to get Barbara to move back into their bedroom. 

The first nights after Jim is almost afraid to fall asleep. Afraid of how she might react to an other dream just like he is afraid of what his subconscious is holding in check for him this time. 

 

It is about this time that one of Barbara's friends starts to complains about how her current boyfriend keeps on looking at other woman whom she thinks younger or prettier than herself. When she mockingly admits to envy Barbara for her faithful husband and how she doesn't to have to share his attention with even on other woman, she can't help but bitterly think that it's no woman who holds his attention but a death billionaire playboy and how this could be better. 

To Jim she doesn't say any of this. In return he tells her every little thing, like he is making up for not telling her the one truth, the one big secret that begins to shape his life more and more- after five years.

*******

It was three months later that the subject of Bruce is dragged out into the daylight again. It's a sunny spring day, feels like summer and Gordon's last dream has been almost two months ago. 

 

He comes home early, at four o'clock and is in really good mood, after closing a case that had robbed his men and women of their sleep for some long nights now. 

Barbara was sitting in the living room, waiting for him while folding socks. Barbara never folded socks and underwear. 

"What's the matter, honey?" Jim asked carefully. He let his briefcase slide down and took a seat in the seat across form her.

When Barbara looked up Jim knew she was on the brick of getting desperate. He recalled not seeing the kids shoes in the hallway. Had she arranged for them to be at their friends?  
What had happened?

 

Barbara put one pair of bright yellow socks with faint blue polka dots away that Gordon just knew to be his daughters.

"Do you remember the ancestor project Jim's teacher has started?" Barbara questioned. A little startled Jim nodded. 

"Well, he was going through the dusty old box with you family memories this morning. The one you buried in the deepest corner of the attic.

He was sorting through the photos and other stuff for about an hour when he came down. And do you know what he asked me?" Her fingers played with the hem of her sweeter, pulling and tugging on it like she was searching for a loose end to pick on. 

"He asked", she continued after one deep breath "weather you had a family member with a 'W' in their name." Now she locked up, her eyes huge with hurt and accusing. Jim's guts clenched painfully together. He knew what was bound to come.

Just as he had expected Barbara slammed a beautifully crafted ring down on the table between them. It was a Wayne heirloom, that much was out of question for anyone who had ever seen one. In addition it was the ring that had always been present on one of Bruce' fingers. 

Gordon felt like someone was choking him. 

"I know that our marriage hasn't been on its peek before the uproar, but something must have been more amiss than I had yet realized for me to miss how you became good enough friends with Gotham's god-damn prince for him to give his most valuable piece of jewelry to you!"

Barbara's voice became more sarcastic with each word, showing just how confused and hurt she truly was.

 

This time Gordon was trapped. How could he explain his possession of the blasted ring? He hadn't noticed it for days himself. It was when he had decided to finally throw away the clothes he had ruined during the confusing events around the battle for Gotham. Out of habit he had checked the pockets before doing so. That was when he had discovered what had found its way inside his trousers. He had felt like Harry Potter back then, suddenly having the philosophers stone in his hand. 

It was a complete mystery how that had happened during his kind-of-goodby from Bruce. Just like he couldn't understand why Alfred had refused to take it when Jim tried to give it to him. The old butler had simply smiled and told him that Bruce must have intended Jim to have it, for he would have not given it to him otherwise. 

"Barbara...", he started, but she shook her head. 

"There is something hughe here, Jim. Something I just have to know in order to go on. And you better talk soon, cause I can't keep my mind form making up its own ideas and explanations- and they aren't exactly doing anything in your favor."

Jim could not explain.

This time Barbara packed a whole suitcase and moved to her friends.

 

*******

So, part one done. Did you like it?


	2. Just some kind of bad time

Just some kind of bad time

 

 

Yeah, second part! Thank you very much for reading, I hope you enjoy it. If you do, be so kind as to quit being a ghost reader and maybe leave some comment or kudos? *.*   
Haha, no pressure! ;)

If there are any mistakes, I guess there will be, English is not my first language and I am one of those who types before thinking, ignore them.   
Thank you and enjoy!!!!!

 

................................................................................................

 

The holiday season was closing in fast and Jim had needed almost a whole week to even register the decoration in the windows and shops all around him.  
December was barely a week away, normally he and Barbara would already snoop around their kids and try to figure out what to get them for Christmas. 

Sighting he played with the little plastic Christmas tree in his fingers. It was a rather ugly piece. Grease had started to collect in places that weren't easily to wish clean. The green color was splitting, too. Sighting he took a sip of his too strong coffee and then turned to look out of the diners window, again.

The temperatures constantly lingered under the freezing point now, even during the day. The sun shone white and cold and far, far away, not able to chase the frost out of the grounds anymore. 

Gordon knew that he should go home, have some dinner that had actually heathy stuff in it, but he couldn't. Not when his wife was still not home and his kids punished him with cold shoulders.

Well, Jimmy tried to treat him with that typical teenage indifference, constantly with his nose in front of a computer screen. He didn't even bother to unplug his earphones most of the time and just sulked away in his room.

Barbs, of course, was the exact opposite of her brother. When Barbara had left she had cornered him and demanded answers he could not give. She had then angrily turned on her heels and slammed the door hard enough to make the glasses shake in their respective cabins. She was drawing conclusions in this incredible head of hers, and just like Barbara she didn't seem inclined to accept the lack of answers much longer. 

Awkwardly scratching his neck Jim decided it wasn't helping his situation to linger in this sad imitation of a restaurant anyway. He pulled his purse out and dropped a ten dollar bill on the table. In places like this money would draw the waitresses ten times faster than any customer seeking for their attention ever could hope to.   
Grabbing his thick coat from the back of his chair he walked outside. His car was parked some blocks away, but he did not mind the cold nor the short walk. The air felt cleaner and lighter than it did during the summer months when humidity and heat pressed it down onto the streets and not a single wind came to blow the stink of fuel out of the city. 

He would light a cigaret, but he quit smoking so he didn't. His eyes roomed over the empty streets. One of the illuminated advertisement displays showed a far too familiar smile, made of far too perfect white teeth.

Jim considered to start smoking again.

 

He was no perfect Housman. How could he? He wasn't even a man who spent much time in his house to begin with.  
He managed to have fresh clothes for himself and the kids at ready, even pressed them. There was some dust on the surfaces, but it would start to collect anew few seconds after he whipped it away, so why bother?   
He remembered to give the kids money to have lunch at their schools cantina. And because of the total lack of cooking that involved more than heating up something in the microwave or putting butter on bread, the kitchen was spotless. 

He sometimes wished he was. Barbara had been one hell of a household manager. She always kept her cool, even in the most difficult situations. Jim knew he wouldn't be able to get a soccer match, a science competition and one of these gruesome official farces under one hat.   
Right now he was getting desperate over digging out all the important documents he would need for his upcoming meeting with their tax accountant.   
He had already searched through the mess on his working desk as well as Barbara's document boxes that were still stashed at the bottom of her wardrobe. 

Now it was time to face his fear and move on to those reams and reams of paper sheets that were usually shut away in the same cupboard as his smoking or the vacuum cleaner. On his knees, absently wishing he would be some years younger, he brought on forgotten thing after the other to the light of day. Some that made him smile, some that reminded him painfully of the woman he longed for to come home.   
Like the ugly table set her mother bought for them and insisted of seeing each time she invited herself for Yule.

The only thing he absolutely refused to look at was the little black box right in front of his nose.   
It contained all those information of the batman that he had dutifully collected during those years the dark knight had walked Gotham's streets.  
Cut-out paper bits, copy's of fils and discs filled with black and white surveillance material that only showed shadows.   
There was even some tiny piece of cloth, most likely ripped out of the fugitives' cape. When they had found it Montonaya had joked that they should sell it on eBay, some crazy fan would surly buy it.   
Jim had insisted on keeping it. After all it was a evidence. One could not give away evidence that concerned a still active case. When the case was closed for good, the day whole Gotham saw their past-hero vanish in a radioactive bubble out of smoke and fire, Jim had boxed it together with all the other evidence and stored it here. 

Now that the mans name was cleaned once again he could have made some good money out of it, sure, but he simply couldn't give it up. The man had changed their whole city. He had changed Jim's life. Why should he give it to someone who would just look at it as some kind of curiosity. That was never what he had wanted. He only wanted attention of the criminal he fought, their fear, not the admiration of the public. 

Jim sighted. He should stop focussing his mind on the man. He should...

 

The evening he cooked an actually nice meal for him and the kids. He robbed Jimmy if his headphones and Barbs of her book. The glares he received for this horrible act were on the nasty side, but Gordon decided not to notice them. 

"How was school?", he asked, trying to get some kind of conversation going. 

"Boring", muttered Jimmy, just as Barbs answered "good."

That was it. Great, really great. He himself had nothing to add, either. They finished their servings in silence, Barbs collected the dishes and put them on the stairs to the upper rooms.  
Darkly he wondered, when he had become such an horrible dad, that they now punished him like this.   
His own kids wanted to get away from him. It hurt, it really did.

Gordon had never been home as much as he had wanted, but the times he was they had all tried their best to make up for the later. 

But he could also understand them, really. They loved their mom, of course they did, and Jim had hurt her. They didn't know how, Barbara had refused to talk about the issue with Jim as well as the kids, but she left. She had left and the kids knew full well who's fault that was. 

He got up slowly and walked to the cabin over the sink, retrieving on of the bottles of bourbon he had been given as a present. It was a present from Garcia, therefore the alcohol was most likely really good stuff and therefor wasted on him. Chuckling he poured himself a small amount of the Amber colored liquor and tossed it back without taking time to taste the exquisite flavor. Just like the cheap stuff he was used to, this bourbon burned its way down his throat, made him take a deep breath. The flavor still lingered on his tongue afterwards, a little bit of honey and fruity-something. Really good stuff.

He sat down and poured himself the next round, silently snickering to himself. Sitting in his own kitchen and drinking when his kids were upstairs and tried their best to pretend they didn't know he even existed. And his wife was staying at a friends, because he proved unable to forget about the only friend who ever shared his passion for their beautiful city that everyone else had been so quick to give up on.   
The only one who understood him. A masked vigilant who dressed as a bat at night and as a swallow playboy during the day. 

Gordon gulped down the glasses content in one go. His eyes watered, but he didn't allow himself to shudder. He has never been a heavy drinker, Barbara's uncle had been a cop and a drinker. He had also been one of those stupid and reckless enough to drink and drive, crashing his car in a tree the night before Christmas. 

But Barbara wasn't here now and he didn't have to drive, just climb up the stair to get in his bed tonight, so he decided one more glass couldn't hurt. 

Although he had sworn himself to stop, he couldn't help but let his thoughts wander to Bruce, once again. The Wayne had been some kind of heavy drinker in his eyes. Jim could name at leased five or ten times when he had seen him completely trashed. Either on one of his catastrophe-in-the-making parties or on various TV broadcasts. 

Now he knew, that probably every single one was a fake. If Jim would have to sit alone in his ridiculous huge manor and watch his own face beeing dragged through the dirt of public gossip he would most likly have drank himself into a coma. Bruce had been very stron in mind, hearth and determination. To sacrafise himself like this, day for day.

'I bet he was a lonely man.' The picture of Bruce, a model in each arm arouse in his mind and he hurriedly washed it away with a new gulp. His stomached clenched painfully. That had to come from the unusual amounts of alcohol, he tried to reason. He had much more to drink that he had in a long time. It would be better to stop.

He remembered the way Bruce had grinned when he had climbed out of that restaurant 'pool'. The way his white shirt had clung to his toned chest. How Barbara had snorted and shook her head.

Yup, definitely too much to drink. He screwed the bottle closed and put it back on its place. The glass went into the dishwasher, just like the plates they had used for dinner.

While climbing the stair Jim felt more heavy then usual, while his brain was all the lighter, projecting images of a shockingly white grin.  
When Jim nearly landed in his own ass during the complicated process of getting out of his shoes he knew he was in for trouble this night.

 

He was standing on the balcony, overlooking Gotham at night. It was a beautiful sight, even if one knew what was happening in those dark little streets down in the less wealthier quarters.   
It was a dream. It really was. Because if it was not, there wouldn't be a silent figure, lurking in the shadows cast by the high walls to their right and left. Jim knew, that Batman knew he was there. He wouldn't know if the other didn't want him to. 

When had dreaming started to lead to 'complicated' conclusion like this? 

Sighting Jim decided to accept it as a dream and instead follow ahead. What was he supposed to do? Wait for Batman to get out of the dark like he usually did? Would it have any specially meaning for the vigilante if he would take the first step and join him in the shadows?  
While he was still musing over the two options Batman did the first step and suddenly there was no Batman anymore. Instead Jim found himself opposite of Bruce Wayne's handsome face. He was still wearing the Bat-suit, only the crawl was nowhere to be seen. 

Jim had never been able to imagine Bruce's face and the armor of Batman at a time. In his head it had always looked ridiculous. The Kevlar suit was adding to the mans large frame and strong built that were usually handsomely disguised be expertly tailored suits that came for thousands of dollars.   
The head had looked much to small in his own visions and out of place.

Much to his own surprise, Gordon had to acknowledge, that his subconscious was frightenly good at mixing the 'two' of them together. Bruce' hair was in a mess, sticking in every which direction, having a slightly wet look to it. There was pitch black paint smeared over his eyes, and the sharp cheekbones, too, when it got warm and run down in broad smears. His eyes shown in the middle of it, lighting up his tired face.   
He was still handsome, but not artificially so. 

"Still watching the shadows, Jim?", he asked "still waiting for me to step out of them?"  
The sentence could have been cruel, if it had been meant to be, but the way Bruce' deep voice rolled over his name, a slight promise of Batman's dark growl in it, and also the smooth melody of Bruce Wayne...it did not hurt Jim, made him feel a Little dizzy, maybe. Especially when he allowed himself to drink in the- was it hope?- in the others eyes. 

"I try not to", answered Jim honestly. Because god, he was trying. This dreams had already put a stain on his relationship to his family, his living, breathing family. His lovely, strong, kind wife. His wife who could never understand why he kept working into the small hours of the day, put his life on the line for a city so corrupt you could put half of the cabinet behind bars.   
Who gave up on waiting for him to come home. Who feared the shadows instead of walking in them. 

"You miss me."

Jim shrugged. No reason to lie here. He could trust Bruce, his ally, his friend. (And this was a DREAM)

"Tell me why I do. Why do you come back after all this years?" The real question was: why did you go? Why did you leave me with this heavy secret of yours? 

"Why now, Jim? Why can't you stop thinking of me, when I am already dead for years?"

"I don't know! Why do you keep on asking this kind of questions? If I knew the answer to any of them we would not be here."

Bruce dark lashes fluttered down. It looked kind of shy, a highly unfitting gesture for the strong man. 

"Are you sure you want to forget me?"

No. Well, he was sure, sure he didn't want to. Bruce deserved, more than deserved, to be remembered for what he did. 

"I don't want to see you die."

"Do you think I want to, Jim? Do you think I am someone who would run, give himself up?"

And that was one of the important questions, wasn't it? Did Bruce want to live. What gave him strength to go on. What was it that kept him standing up in the mornings- or afternoons as rumor had it?

"No. You wouldn't allow yourself that. Far to disciplined to die", he snorted in dry amusement.   
"But you have never answered any of my questions."

"Why, commissioner. Have you already forgotten how to be a cop? Don't those make their living out of figuring things out?"

"You are my subconscious. Shouldn't you know as much, even more than I do?"

Bruce laughed. Hard. He threw his head back, exposing his throat and filling the silent space between them with vibrations of...something warmer than the night air.   
"No one ever told me that. Next time you tell me I am your voice of reason! Has no on told you I am a no-good playboy?" 

His tone was teasing. And had he always been standing this close? If Jim would lift his fingers only slightly he would have been able to trace the metal bat emblem on the broad chest in front of him. Tilting his head back slightly he drank in the faint lines around the others sparkling, dark eyes.   
Such a handsome man. 

"I am missing something. Something has changed. What are you up to?"

"What shall I be up to? I am dead, aren't I?", Bruce asked back, moving even closer. So, so close. Close enough to not only look, but to hear, smell, 'touch'.

"What do you miss?", breathed the billionaire. 

Gordon had forgotten how to. He felt himself sinking, his hands gripping at the other, only finding hard plates that barley gave him any hold.   
'I miss you. I miss you, miss you, miss you...'

Bruce hooked his fingers in his belt loops, pulling him against his hard body. 

Jim couldn't follow. He couldn't comprehend what was happening. 

"Last chance", the dark knight whispered, against the commissioners lips.

 

That was when the word exploded around them- literally. Jim could feel the vibrations under his feet. There was dust everywhere and then they fell. Like puppets cut lose. 

"Bruce!"

 

And suddenly he jerked away. Covered in sweat and twisted in his sheets. He buried his face behind his hands, feeling the still cold metal of the Wayne ring he was wearing. 

"What have you done to me, Bruce Wayne?", he sighted.   
Then, as he gradually became more awake by the moment he also began to feel someone's eyes on him. 

He lifted his gaze, meeting his daughters eyes. Eyes that were slightly pinched together, her lips caught in an unattractive sneer. 

"Were you fucking him?", she asked. Her voice was low an so very accusing. Jim cringed when he heard her spit such crude words at him. He was too caught up in how wrong it felt to hear something like this out of her mouth to even fully comprehend what she just said. When he did, it was already too late. His flinch and the slightly pained look on his face were enough of an answer to her.

"How could you!", she cried "that's why mom left, isn't it? Because he was such a good lay that you still dream of it!" There were tears in her eyes, out of anger or hurt, it didn't matter. 

"Oh God, Barbs! No! I would never have...", he didn't get any further before Barbs turned on her naked heel and stormed down the hallway, into her room. The door slammed loud enough to be physically tangible. 

Feeling utterly helpless, Jim let himself sink back onto the mattress. 

'And once again things are heading further downwards.'

 

The day Jim fell asleep on his office desk was an other milestone of failiture in his struggle to hold his life together. 

It was six days past the night Barbs came to that horrible conclusion. Two sleepless nights, two filled with Bruce dying, one with him sitting at a rooftop bar, talking about everything and nothing until his face was red with excitement and much too close...  
The last night he hadn't even tried to sleep, instead he had stayed in his office, trying to get closer to the lunacy who had tried to blow up three banks in four days. Never with any kind of success, but the public was starting to worry, as were the ones in charge of the city's budget. They should open a new collecting pool. 'Money to pay for damage done be crazy-ass tugs.' That way they wouldn't need to get back on their word and simply keep money in they had already promised various departments...

But back to Gordon falling asleep, merely two inches away from the greasy fries that sat on his desk since noon- four hour ago. 

He had drunken enough coffee to force Montoya to go out and buy some more if she wanted to survive her upcoming graveyard shift. 

Waking up was painful and embarrassing. Painful because his neck was killing him and embarrassing because he was pretty sure what had woken him up was suspiciously alike to the flashing light of a cells' camera. Montoya blinked at him like the most innocent creature in the word, putting does to shame.   
Very, very suspicious.

"You should go home commish, I bet the kids are missing you."

'I bet my whole salary they don't', Jim wanted to answer, but he didn't. It ain't nobody's business, no matter what the female cop would say to that. 

"You just want to get me out of your hair, aren't you, detective?", he asked teasingly only earning himself a pulled eyebrow.

"Even if I were- which I vehemently deny, seeing as my free week is soon coming up", trust Montoya to be that blasé about everything "but I also do worry. We all thought the days you use your office as kind of a base-camp are well over"

We? Gordon wanted to ask. He held his officers in the highest regard, but sometimes they were much too eager to try to mother him. 

"I was just not sleeping well the last nights, I guess my age has caught up on me..."

The female cop did not look very convinced, smelling half-truths miles away. This time however Gordon was able to get his neck out of the rope fast enough.

"Have you already seen to the evidence that forensics sent along this morning?"

Flashing one of her broad grins she quickly handed Jim a file. 

"Beeing the incredible self I am, I have indeed. It is not much, the DNA in the hair was pretty damaged, but they could reconstruct bits that suggest we are looking for a Caucasian male in the age of 17 to 50. Something about 'genetic patterns'"

"So basically for twenty-five percent if Gotham's citizens", Gordon interjected.

"I know you are a tired old man, but please be a little bit more patient, would you?", the Hispanic woman teased, still grinning.

"They, however, also found this beautiful little fibre on the crime scene. It is an exceptionally endurable little thing. Made to withstand temperatures in industrial steel production. Firefighters were recently equipped with clothing of this kind by Wayne Industry's, testing it for protective suits."

If Jim was not able to hide his little jerk at the mentioning of Wayne Industries, his employee did not comment on it. Instead she continued without missing a beat. 

"But the catch is, that the products made by Wayne Industries are a lot more refined. This looks like some kind of prototype or the like. And when it could not root from any of the fire fighters at the scene and the civilians and bank-employees are very unlikely to wear special gear during their daily activities...."

"It can only be from the fugitive." That was indeed something they would be able to work with. 

"Have you any idea were he got his hands on a industrially valuable prototype?"

"Not the slightest. Stephens and the rest are checking out scientists and the usual suspects as we are talking. They will bring them in for interrogation tomorrow. We also got into contact with the CEO of Wayne corp. He is highly cooperative as usual."

'Good old Lucius Fox', Gordon thought. It was a blessing for all of Gotham, that the elder man had not retired when Bruce had died. When the company was suffering through one of its worst times.  
But in the last years, with much hard work and a few moves that Gordon would describe as brilliant, daring and on the border of blackmail, Fox had once again stirred Wayne enterprises at the very top of the city, the whole east coast, maybe.   
He was an disgustingly wealthy man nowadays, channeling millions of dollars into charity and social work each month. The company was kind of the city's backbone. They would all have been in for much worse, if this powerhouse would have gone under.

Only the lack of a real Wayne to lent their face to it was sorely missing.   
Damn Bruce and his ability to sneak into his mind 'again'...

"Let's hope we find this nutcase before I have an angry Garcia over here 'again'", Gordon sighted. 

"I am sure we will have him by the balls in no time!", the other cop grinned. 

 

Coming home was an unpleasant affair. Open the door, hanging up the coat and getting out of his shoes while still holding his shopping bags in both hands.   
Get into the kitchen, ignore Barbs huffing and storming out of the room. Put the shoppings in the cupboards. 

He couldn't tell weather Jimmy was in his room, at a friends or on a trip to the moon. His boy was like a ghost the past days. 

Gordon wandered with his hands through his hair, messing it up even more than his little nap had.   
It would be best took cook dinner, force something into his unwilling, stubborn offsprings and then get himself in front of a TV. Or his paperwork which he had carefully smuggled right under Montoya's watchful eyes. 

While he was cutting potatoes and carrots in bits, he suddenly jerked to alert, when he heard a pretty loud 'boom'. When an other followed and the again and again his tension slowly disappeared. Drying his hands he moved to the window, silently watching the fireworks erupting in the skies. Somewhere people were loudly cheering, than an other boom.   
He turned his head slightly and for the first time, took in the date. It was THE day. The day that nearly brought Gotham to its knees, five years ago.   
A pang of guilt, closely followed by sorrow sured though his hearth. Five years since Bruce died, since he lost his silent companion for dark nights full of trouble. 

Closing his eyes he leaned his forehead against the cool glass. They were celebrating, the lucky fools, while he was mourning.   
Someone had demeaned they have a 'Batman-day' as a holiday, but luckily the idea had been dismissed pretty fast. It hurt like hell as it was. That the public only now appreciated the batman that he was dead, while they had been on a hunt for him when he was still alive, complicating his mission even more, was pretty typical and ironic non the less. He had no use for their admiration now.

Footsteps echoed behind him and Gordon turned to look at his son. Jimmy looked sad. And maybe he did so for the same reason that Gordon did. His boy had adored Batman since the day he first appeared. Especially after he was held hostage and rescued by Gotham's dark knight.  
Oh, it had been so difficult to explain to a child why he should not stand up for his hero when others had started to call him a dangerous "psycho"...

 

The next day found Jim on his knees again, this time in the literal sense. Kneeling on the hard and frozen ground, not caring about the moisture that soaked into his trousers or the painfully cold wind that had reddened his ears and nose.   
The night had been filled with those terrible arching dreams of Bruce that left him feel hollow and cold inside and also so very guilty to be alive, for pitying himself when he felt alone in the nights. 

He had not brought flowers to the Wayne's grave this time. It was almost buried under those.   
As it seemed there had been many people who had remembered that yesterday was not only Batman's day of death, but also his. Maybe they had come here as a social event, hoping to appear to have had connections to Gotham's most famous, and rich, individual.   
Maybe there had been friends of his parents, remembering him as an surprisingly bright child. Or People who had been helped by the Wayne foundation who had wanted to express their gratitude this way. Jim did not care. Jim did not bring flowers. Instead he had brought his sadness, his anger, his desperation to lay it in front of his past friends grave. He brought his hearth, what was left of it, anyway.   
It was time to acknowledge what he knew on the inside by now. While he was frightenly good at lying to Garcia about doing his paperwork and staying out of the field, he was down right miserable at lying to himself. Damn, he knew, that his sadness was too intense for the loss of a mere friend.   
He would be very, very sad to lose one of those. But he would not be haunted by their memories Would not fail to keep his thoughts in order, or dream about them 'like this'.  
He would not let his wife go if it had been mere friendship that held his hearth prison in the past.

Gordon didn't try to hold back the tears that rolled down his face. No one would see them, no one could guess. No one would ever know.

 

 

No one beside the one who hid in the shadows behind heavy curtains, silently asking for forgiveness for being about to break the promise he had insisted on himself. 

Because this was the true second chance.

 

................................................................................................

 

Sooooooo, that's it for this time! I hope you will also forgive me, for making a cut at this point. There will be a third chapter, the final one, soon after this one is published. Or what I define as soon, anyway. Because, honestly guys, I do have a personal life, duh~


	3. Just some kind of miracle

Kay, guys! FINAL chapter! Huh-huh, need to calm my self down and rehearse my game-plan!

Haha, no, seriously. The last chapter will surly be the hardest to write, after all I have to connect the loose straws I have dropped in the previous two and try to bring this to an end that will hopefully satisfy you.

I am very grateful for all your bookmarks, kudos and comments- or for generally reading and coming back for more ;)  
With this said: here we goohoooo~!

 

Just some kind of miracle

 

The day Jim Gordon put down his wedding band in some harsh fit of anger over his whole (damn-fucking-unfair) situation was the coldest of the year. The day he would stop regretting it would come nearly a month later. 

It was Christmas, the self proclaimed happiest time of the year. Somehow Gotham's commissioner had failed to get the memo. Or it was buried underneath all the other papers that towered in his office...?  
As it was, he stood outside of one of these ridiculously cliche houses on the very edge of the town.  
It was two stories with a small fence that won't even stop a hedgehog. A snowman, complete with carrot-nose and a bumped hat sat in front of the lawn, grinning his malicious coal-made smile at Jim. He was sure, that the grass was cut to two inch high perfection, even if it was momentary buried under a hell lot of snow.

They were so far out, he could hardly say, weather this was still Gotham- just the way Barbara liked it.  
And she did look good, standing in the open door, a mug of coffee in her hand and a smile on the lips that was only slightly pained. She looked like she had rested well.  
Sighting the policeman buried his fists even deeper in his dark coat. 

If not for his own problems with sleep he would not stand out here, freezing off his ass and other valuable pieces of his anatomy. (You have lied to your self and lived in denial for years, there is no way that you could go on like this forever, Jim!)

He knew, that his inner voice was right. He had also known, in a distant part of his brain, that it would come to this, to driving his kids out of the city to spent the holidays with their mom.  
Celebrating it together like they had in the past (when Jim hadn't have to work) would be a very, very stupid thing to do. Barbara was still confused and resentful, Barbs still hated his very existence. Jimmy was just confused. 

Watching his daughter as she hurried past him, her bright red duffel bag hung around her slim shoulders made his hearth ache with longing for the times she had sleep in his lap after she had insisted to read the news with him. She made a point of not-looking at her father at all, instead pulled her mom in a tight hug and then continued to climb up the stairs.  
Jimmy at leased leaned in for a quick embrace, only after making sure no one was looking, of course. 

"Marry Christmas, dad", he whispered before following his sister inside.  
"Happy Christmas to you, too, son", Gordon wished the thin air in front of him.  
There was an uncomfortable moment of hesitation when he and Barbara were the only ones left standing outside. Only when his voice of reason kicked in again did Jim move towards her.  
He had been married to his wife for nearly two decades, he was at least going to wish her happy holidays!

"I know this is not entirely fair to you. And I am sorry", she whispered when they tentatively embraced during their mutual condolences.  
No, it was not fair, her having the kid for the holiday and new year. It was also not fair, that Barbs still hated him for something he didn't even do. It was also not fair, that he had to fuck up all their lives because of a man that was god damn dead.  
Fair is not how life works.

"Don't. This is not your fault. I...wish you only the best. Enjoy the week, we will talk about this afterwards, yes?"  
Nodding her head Barbara brushed back a loose curl of her beautiful red hair. Jim's stomached gave a painful clench. He still loved her and that was the worst part. He loved her but it would never be the same again, never enough, never free of guilt and what-ifs.

Maybe they both knew it because he did not act on the impulse to brush her hair back like he used to and she did not seem surprised or even disappointed over that. 

"Don't work all the time, will you?", she teased.

"I can always try, but you know what it is like with those thugs..." He joked back, slowly walking away towards his parked car.

Waving a last time but not lingering he opened the door and got inside. Waiting a few minutes to make sure he was no longer watched he let his head hit the steering wheel repeatedly. He was such. a. fucking. iDIOT.

 

 

The street back into the city was deserted. By now nearly everyone must have arrived at their destination, Jim mused.  
In an desperate attempt to turn out the silence he turned on the radio. 'Driving home for Christmas' filled the car. Perfect, just what he needed to hear.  
Driving home for Christmas, indeed.  
Driving home to empty rooms, Chinese takeaway, case files and a bottle of leftover bourbon. But that wouldn't make for a song as good, would it?

 

In the evening he listened to Stevens and Montoya's condolences and good whishes on the answering machine. He also got a call from some distant friends he and Barbara hadn't visited for years but still talked to at this special time of the year. Their condolences were directed to both Gordons.  
It hurt so he turned the machine off, un plucked the whole thing and left for the living room. 

 

At the same time someone dialed his number.

 

Christmas was nearly over (over enough to throw away dinner leftovers that won't survive heating them up again but not over enough to drop the Christmas spirit and good will) and New Year's Eve was knocking.

Yesterday Jim had called Barbara, asked her if they had a good holiday and weather the kids liked their presents.  
Yes they had, and they were delighted. They had also missed Jim. The commissioner told her, that he missed them too. That he was sorry.  
On the other end of the line he had heard a silent snob and put the phone down in a breathes time. 

 

When the phone rang the next night he was more than a little irritated. His head hurt and he all but felt nasty germs spreading in his body, his nose has been running and his temples felt much too hot to his freezing fingers. 

At first he could not place the voice on the other end. In the second moment he couldn't either, but when the friendly gentleman had finished his apologies about waking him up and finally told his name Jim was sitting in his bed immediately, all unkind thoughts forgotten.

"As I said, I am deeply sorry, but I have done something that will hardly be corrected easily and if it was indeed a mistake I need to know now." 

Gordon's sleep deprived brain had a hard time following the cryptic sentences and this was Alfred Pennyworth calling. The only living connection to the man he...what? Loved? Trusted, for sure. Believed in, mourned for, starved for. The one he needed. And need in a sense that clawed at his hearth like an untamable beast since he woke up over the sorrow that Bruce's lips didn't feel real when pressed against his in dreams he shouldn't dream.

"I fear I don't know what you are talking about, sir" Gordon answered. 

"And I fear I would start believing in unicorns wearing tutus if you did", came the dry reply, not any less confusing than the previous things said.

"Mister Gordon, I need to know weather you morn for the man who wore the bat suit, or for the batman who was walking with the face of Bruce Wayne."

Taken aback Jim lowered the phone to stare at it. What was it that the butler was aiming at? Jim's heart was beating too hard, it hurt in the chest.  
How could he answer to that? Why did he have to?

"I miss the man who shared my believe in a better future. The one I could have called my friend. I can't even say that I have know either Bruce nor batman, not if It took me so long to realize, that they were all part of the same person." It was a complicated answer, not one of the straight ones he preferred himself, but it was the only hornets thing to say. It felt true, at least.

"I see", the other man answered. "Do you know how high the young master held you in his personal regards?"  
Jim wanted to ask the man weather he knew how high he held Bruce in his own. 

"I think I will put the phone down now."

"I fear I can't stop you, neither would I know how or why. I never thought miracles would happen in Gotham, Bruce did and maybe he was right. I wish you the best, Mister Gordon."  
After that the line went silent. Utterly confused Gordon stared at the phone in his hands. Even if he forced his mind to work as hard as he could, he couldn't make sense out of the last minutes. 

Angry and restless he threw his beddings away and stormed down to the kitchen. After smashing each cupboard door he settled on the couch with a glass and the rest of the bourbon. 

 

In the grey of the following morning, he woke up with tears in his eyes. His heartbeat went faster than it would after a marathon. His throaty felt sore just like every other bone in his body. And still he woke up smiling.  
Because he just knew, how he wasn't alone anymore. Because the house seemed too dark for the early morning hours and its shadows much, much too alive as they slid away from the wall and slowly made their way towards him.

 

***********

It is not very difficult to die. In fact it is pretty easy and done more often without anyone noticing than most would think.

Bruce Wayne had died many different deaths, deaths of soul and hearth and those that served to maintain his freedom.  
Usually a human would become just a face under thousands if they only moved one city away.  
It was, of course, much more difficult for someone whose face was plastered on too many newspapers, economy journals and rainbow-press covers to let any self respecting reporter not know him.  
It was less trouble in Europe.  
He had started in the south, tried to chase away the chill in his bones and ice in his hearth.  
He never allowed himself to linger in a place more than necessary. Moved around, always playing the tourist, one under hundreds.  
He had also tried to move farther east were the land was less covered in cities and the people were poorer. Because poor people did not care for the antics of the rich asses over sees. They cared for living, for not freezing in the winters and to be able to sent their kids to school.  
And although he felt save enough to linger, he never really felt the whish to do so. 

When he finally settled down he had long since parted from the woman who had been his companion for the first months. He was alone again and in Greece.  
It is a very impressive county, that Greece. A magnificent history and culture, but also corrupted and blinded by the luxury it had allowed itself to dwell in.  
Not that unlike from Gotham.

He did not take on a regular job, he was too old to get used to this kind of life. In a county as financially unstable as this, it was surprisingly easy to make money out of thin air, moving around money that wasn't really there, investing and reselling, always hoping to do some good for other people on the market, but not on a big enough scale to draw attention. 

And all this had helped to numb the craving loss. Made it ache less and less with each passing day. 

And then his phone had rang, after five years, and he had been forced to notice, that he wasn't even living, that he was still bound to Gotham with his very soul- and the offered happiness was, too.

*********

 

It felt unreal to look into Bruce Wayne's eyes. It had felt more real in his dreams because things like this happened in dreams, it was harder to imagine them while awake. Impossible things only projected by a stupid mind that was too damn weak (or strong) to accept and forget.  
In a heartbeat Jim was up and walking, nearly running towards the silent figure that stood in the middle of his own living room, tall and looming but not clad in armor but a fine suit that was just as pitch black. 

"Oh gods, Bruce!", Gordon breathed. He did not reach out with his hands, afraid to shatter the moment but his fingers were shaking with the want to tangle in Bruce' wavy dark hair. To stroke those strong cheekbones and hold on tight. 

Bruce did not say a thing, he just stared right back in the commissioners eyes.  
Jim could feel the other mans breath on his face, it went swallow and fast like his.  
"How?", he asked, now actively fighting the urge to make skin contact with the other. After all he did not know how Bruce would react. They had never been in any kind of relationship that involved touching at all.  
But he was standing so close and he was still beautiful as hell, even more so with the faint lines an unknown pain had drawn on his face. 

Only when Bruce started to speak did Gordon realize that he had never expected an answer.  
"Did you never ask yourself, why there weren't any news about radioactive fallout? A nuclear bomb of that dimensions would surly cause dozens of lasting problems."

"But, but there are!", Jim stuttered "the news broadcast the radiation measurements like the weather. We don't eat any fish fang in the bay or vegetables grown in the coast anymore we..."

"I am talking about miss carryings. About people going Balt and dying, Jim. I had only two minutes to fly out of the city. It was impossible to bring it far enough."

"The bomb wasn't nuclear. The measurements are done by Wayne enterprises and they are a fake." Gordon had lowered his head while the thought swirled in his brain and pieces of information connected to each other to draw a completely new picture. But now he raised it again and looked straight it he others eyes.

"And you did not die in the explosion. Because there has been an autopilot all the time."

The smile on the former billionaire face was sad and the hesitation and, dare he say it?, fear in his eyes made his hearth clench. 

"I made a promise to Alfred, Jim. I had to promise him, that if I wouldn't see a chance for Gotham to make me truly happy I would leave it all behind and start anew. That I would walk away without looking back."

"You could have been happy here. I...I would have done everything to make sure you are.  
You could have dropped the playboy image and go out with Miss Kyle. You could have done everything you wanted."

"Selina", Bruce answered with a sad smile "is very similar to me in many ways. But she has never been what I need. I needed, wanted, someone who would be on my side no matter what. Someone who loved this city like I do. Someone who still believed and would die for those believes."

"Bruce...", Gordon whispered. He raised his hands to cup the others face but still hesitated until Bruce long fingers wrapped around his. 

"Alfred called me. And he told me, that I could find what I have wanted all this time. That I should hope.  
Was he right , Jim?"

Suddenly afraid the policeman hesitated just a second. Whatever he would say now would have serve consequences. This time Bruce couldn't come back with a simile and tell the world 'here I am', again. The world has moved on, the manor wasn't even in his hands anymore. There would be questions over questions.

And Jim wouldn't be able to simply step to his side and take his hand. There was still Barbara and the kids to think off, not talking about the uproar it would cause to be arrogant enough to say that he was the one Bruce needed.

 

But god damn it, this was also HIS big chance for happiness. As if he could ever let go of the other man now that he knew that he wasn't only alive but maybe, no not maybe but really, offering himself to Jim. Like he could stand to watch him with someone else without bleeding from the inside out.

"I have even wanted you when I still thought you dead. It has been only you since the first night on the roof. When you gave me my own hope back. It just took me too long to realize."

 

"It would have been too long if I wouldn't be standing here," Bruce said, moving their still tangled hands down to their sides before taking a step closer, locking their chest together. Gently loosening his right hand he brought it up and let it glide trough Jim's somewhat longish hair, enjoying how easily the curls slid over his palm.  
It was all that was needed for Jim to trow all hesitation away and lean up the few missing centimeters to press his lips to the Wayne's.

Kissing Bruce was different than kissing his wife or the girls he had dated before Barbara.  
He could feel strength bubbling under the surface that surpassed his own easily. Hard muscles that twitched in the most delicious way when Gordon stroked the broad chest in front of him.  
One of the Batman's hands was still in his hair, tugging and stroking and it was impossible for him not to moan as careful teeth nibbled on his bottom lip.

Bruce did not hesitate to use this to his own advantage and slid his tongue in the others mouth, a low growl in the back of his throat that remembered the commissioner of the other personality the billionaire took on at night time. 

 

He could have continued like this for all night, but reality got a hold of his lust-clouded thoughts and he couldn't ignore the nagging fact that he was really kissing Bruce fucking Wayne. Who was Batman. Who was supposed to be 'death'!

With a sight he parted his lips from the other man's who looked at him with eyes that were all but black with desire and kiss-swollen lips so tempting he regretted the parting immediately.

But first things first.

"What are we doing? What will you do? You can't tell me you have any of this planned!"

Bruce smirked and hooked his fingers in the commissioners belt loops, pulling him flush against his chest once more.

"I could not have planned this any better", he breathed "but it played out surprisingly close to what I have imagined all the days between a Alfred's call and now."

"I am not talking about us, Bruce! I am talking about this whole mess with everyone believing you are death! About how you won't be able to just jump onto stage again like some deus ex machina!", Gordon chided, fighting hard not to lean in and forget his rationality.

"I will take care of this"

"How?"

"I am Bruce Wayne! There has yet to be something I can't solve"

"You are awfully confident in your ability to fool people."

"And you are awfully pessimistic. After all I have fooled them for decades, and not only them but you, too."

"I am worried, Bruce!"

"I know you are. Your quiet the mother hen if one lets you, aren't you? Just like Alfred, I would bet. Why do I always attrac the overprotective ones?"

"Don't give me that shit-eating grin! You are not succeeding if you think you can distract me that easily!", Gordon accused. He couldn't help but smile trough his harsh words, thou. There was something in that smile that was infectious. And maybe it could infect Gotham once more and paint smiles on those faces that were still grim, in fear of a repentance of the events five years prior?

"Jim", Bruce whispered, tracing a finger over his jaw, chin and cheekbones. Then stroking his hairline absentmindedly.  
"I have my name and money, Lucius Fox as the head of one of the most powerful companies on the east cost, dozens of lawyers, Alfred and the police commissioner on my side. How could I not be able to face any trouble that may present itself? How could I not take this opportunity?"

"I am just worried for you"

"I think we already noted, that you are doing too much of that" Bruce smiled warmly and with so much tenderness in his eyes that Gordon felt his knees got week. And how could he not take this opportunity head on? He had never dared to hope for something even remotely as good as this. For his hearth to be whole again, and better than whole even? He knew, deep down, that he would fight teeth and nails for this. 

"We are still two, after all, aren't we?"

"Of course we are", Jim heard his cracking voice reply, unsteady with overflowing emotions.

"And that's all that will count for me." Bruce placed one more kiss on the policeman's lips.

'I love you', Gordon wanted to say. But this was too sudden, too overwhelming. 

Instead he leaned in to bask in the warmth that was Bruce and the knowledge that he could spent all of his future with this man, no matter what would come: he would not allow this one to get away again!

 

The end~

 

Okay. The end.  
Huh, tough thing to write. Still soooo many ideas in my mind. It also feels unreal to finish it up (yeah, yeah it wasn't a mammoth project that held me prison for months, but still...)

I would like to thank you for finishing with me and support me! You are a wonderful community and I loved sharing my story.

Until the next time,  
WintersGreen xo


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